Ghosts
by ImposedWriter
Summary: "I don't need these ghosts." Lucy Weasley


**This was written for CloakAuror9's No Dialog Challenge. I hope you enjoy it.**

This was hell. Lucy wanted to cry. What else could she do? The pain stung.

She took a step away from the smashed pieces of glass and felt the cooling instantly hit. She replayed the memory over and over again until she could feel the blood dripping away at her feet. But Lucy _couldn't_ cry. Her heart felt nothing and neither did her hands that were soaked in a syrup-like substance. Lucy watched the liquid trickled down her hand and joining other cells back onto the floor. It was so relieving. Yet, Lucy was still frowning.

No matter how hard she tried, she always lost. Molly would always be number one. The eldest and most respected. She would never amount to much. Studying extra hours just to please her 'loving mummy' didn't help. Neither did receiving extra credit from well-known teachers. Lucy tried not to move her limbs. They were stiff, and she was sure there were some small shards of glass hidden between her veins. She closed her eyes and exhaled shakily. The first time was always the best.

* * *

I wanted to be loved. But to be loved would be hard to achieve. Nothing came free to me. I looked over to Molly who was currently intertwining her fingers with her boyfriend. I felt a scalding hot tear stream down my face at her happiness. What did she have that I didn't? What made her so special? What made mummy love her even more? I thought I was perfect. Father thought so. He at least acknowledges my existence. Looking back up, I saw that Molly was locking lips with the lucky boy. Their tongues dancing with each other swiftly and with balance.

I wondered how it felt to be Molly at the time. To be perfect.

* * *

How could she live through the day? Lucy had tried to pick the remaining pieces of sparkling glass out of her body to no avail. What was she to do? Lucy looked at the rock in her hand and thought about what happened earlier today. It would have been so easy to smash the new mirror. She threw it up, high in the air and let it drop back into her hand. A stinging sensation filled her body and she dropped the small piece of earth. Lucy fell down to her knees and snuffed out the slight smell of metal.

Blood.

Her blood.

The blood that she had cut from her own body.

Her imperfect little body.

* * *

Tears. Those were the only things that needed to slip out. No words, no feelings, not emotion. Just tears. They were the only thing anyone would get out of me. I tried not to stare at the puffiness that was my hand. It had become swollen and purple. A few green spots sprouted here and there. It was already infected, and I couldn't write. My imperfection became greater. I had done more harm than healing myself. I thought I knew what I was doing. I choked back the drops of saline, and light hiccups that nearly escaped my throat,

I dropped my quill onto the table. The ink sprayed all over my scrolls of parchment. I stared at my masterpiece. Splays of random red dots were placed here and there. The thick and black ink melted into the paper. It too wasn't right. I shoved it in the waste bin.

* * *

Lucy had gotten used to the bile taste of tobacco that hung around. The puffs of smoke arose into the night sky. There was no moon to shine upon the young girl. Nor were there stars. Everything was still. Lucy pinched the sides of her waist. Nothing. Unsatisfied, Lucy threw the small cigarette downwards and stepped on it. The roof was always a fun place to go. Even if you could fall. Anything was better than the hell Lucy lived in.

She reached for the bottle full of aged spirits.

* * *

I never should have taken drugs.

* * *

Lucy stared at the piece of aged parchment that Molly had fished out of the trashcan. She had no idea what her sister was trying to teach her. Lucy carefully traced the fat lines and poked the small dots of brown. It, like her, was still imperfect. The stray splashes of bland color were splattered here and there. Lucy's hand had gotten more swollen, and she was finding it harder to breathe. Her lungs always felt heavy and weighted, and the more she looked into a mirror, the wider she became.

A pack of unlighted cigarettes were on the table. It would have been so easy to light one. To lose herself into the dizzy world of no accomplishment in life whatsoever.

A bottle of crack was hidden beneath her chair and under the floorboards of the haunting castle. Lucy could have taken a swig or two and lay down on her bed. These were numbing choices of her preference.

But no matter what, she'd still be imperfect.

Unlike Molly.

Who is perfect.

In everyway.

But makes her mistakes, right?

It then clicked.

It all made sense.

Lucy hung the painting up on the wall.

* * *

Life isn't about being perfect. The imperfections and flaws you have make you human. It's okay to mess things up. I don't have to drag everything around with me. I don't need these ghosts.

**A/N:**

**I thought that it was important to address the fact that most people feel unappreciated and/or disliked. I feel that it's not fair to beat yourself up because you're not pretty or smart enough. In this one-shot, I wrote about a girl who lives in the shadow of her older sister. She had problems with self-harm, drugs, and briefly; weight. There was this one girl who wrote a story about perfection, and how she wanted it so bad. This gave me inspiration to write about how other people feel. Even if I do lose the contest, I feel like I've already won with the power of PSA.**

** Thank-you for giving the time to read this short one-shot.**


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